A Life Half Lived
by ameliapemerson
Summary: This is the beginning of Where My Heart Truly Rests - A canon era MM story where love, loyalty, and trust all have their boundaries tested. I hope you'll go along with me on this exploration of our beloved OTP. Chapter 4: Mary is taking charge of her life at Downton while Matthew is away training.
1. Chapter 1:After the Ball

**_A Life Half Lived_**

_This is my secret santa offering to** lady-morgen-crawley** on tumblr. Thank you **Patsan** for organizing the secret santa exchange again this year! _

_This is the first chapter of the long canon era fic I've been promising myself to write for a long time now. I've gone back and forth in my mind and played around with plot and angst and what to do... and now's the time to just start it. I wrote a middle section chapter in August **(**_**Where My Heart Truly Rests**_) __which I'm going to label separately now... but it can be read a preparation for the much longer story now in progress._

_It is about the Great War...so some of it is going to be graphic (coarse language, graphic descriptions of battle and blood and wounds). _

_I hope you like it. I hope you leave comments and reviews and ideas and critiques! Thanks!_

XX

The mud. The stinking mud. The fucking, stinking mud. Matthew scowled. He sank into the mud knee deep. His puttees, his boots, and his uniform indistinguishable in the brown muck.

Wiped his brow only to have the muck get in his eyes. The dripping rain down on his Brodie helmet. He could barely see. His gloves were filthy.

He had stepped onto the ladder where his boots came out from under him. He fell back down into the mud.

He sighed. 'Hell was the mud' had become a saying among the soldiers.

Ever present. It squelched in his boots.

It sucked. It drew you in like quick sands. Over his knees. Viscous. Tenacious. Determined never to be cleaned. It invaded every crevice of his skin. Slimy.

A nightmare.

Along with the complementary wet. And cold. And the rats. Coming out by the hundreds. Especially at night.

His unit was supposed to be relieved two days ago. Time to go back to the reserve line. To give everyone some rest. And to get clean. And to survive again until it was their time to return.

But the rail lines had broken down. And with it their relief for another two days.

He squinted through his wet eyelashes again. He was supposed to be readying two young subalterns for their first reconnaissance.

But the exhaustion, mind numbing exhaustion . He could not think straight. Unwanted thoughts ticked in his head. Of another life. A life he could hardly believed existed much less a life that he existed in.

He frowned. A deep, down to the bone marrow frown.

A frown he wasn't sure would ever change to a smile again.

XX  
><em>The lights, lit by the new electrics, shone down on the dance floor. The dancers, in unison circled that floor. The dance was a waltz. Not the new variations on the waltz like the hesitation waltz or the dream waltz, invented and popularized by the Castles, but the Viennese that demanded a formal distance between the partners.<em>

_Distance Matthew found a chasm in his need to touch Mary._

_For he could now touch her. She was… he swallowed to not get too far ahead of himself…almost… his fiancée._

_But because of Sybil's coming out. Because of the London Season, he had authorization to touch her. On the dance floor. Where it was permissible for a young man to take a girl's hand and touch. Interact. Talk. In private._

_Intimate._

_Yet even so, Matthew longed to leave. The Flintshire ball tried his nerves. Some of the other parties in the London season allowed for the new American dances. The Bunny Hug and the Lame Duck with their face to face time and the deep dip at the end._

_He longed to dip Mary on the dance floor. Her long back arching in his arms. Catching her. Bringing her back and feeling her breath on his face. _

_Perhaps even attempt the Tango._

_The endless series of parties, galas, and balls he lost count. They had been introduced as the heir to the Grantham estate Matthew Crawley Esq. and the Lady Mary Crawley. The assumption of an engagement made by all._

_He had asked the question over a late night impromptu wine and sandwiches after Sybil's run in with some hooligans. They had a lot to thank Sybil for._

_"Oh Matthew, what am I always telling you. You must pay no attention to the things I say." Her gaze on his. He had kissed her, or she had kissed him. Or they had come together in a perfect moment of shared love. Shared need._

_He whispered, "I think I need to be sure of one thing." He paused. She looked expectant._

_"That you will pay attention to the next thing I say." He started to stumble and stopped. _

_"And what is that?" She asked calmly even though her insides were doing somersaults._

_"That I want to marry you. That I think we should spend all the days of our lives together." He looked up, into her eyes. "Mary my darling, will you marry me?"_

_She had kissed him rather than answer. He knew better than to expect an immediate answer. Even though this was what he had been brought to Downton to accomplish. Two years in the making and Mary still wanted him to wait a bit._

_He could wait. He had swallowed his fragile pride and said he would wait. They kissed again. _

_Even so, a month later the question had yet to be answered._

_But Matthew was hoping. Mary gave him no need to worry. Indeed since the kiss after his unexpected proposal, their closeness, their intimacy excited him beyond anything he thought possible._

_He remembered that she was gowned in the new fashion at that last party. She had dared because the Countess Gracemere allowed for it. Oriental with soft drapery, and bold prints, corsetless she taunted him. Teased him. Beguiled him._

_They met in secret while in public._

_Stealing away for a few seconds behind a pillar. Outside on the balcony. Sneaking into a library or a music room. To gossip. To kiss. To embrace._

_To simply exist in the other's space. When she walked through the French doors to the their secret place, he smiled._

_He smiled a smile he didn't think would ever turn to a frown._

XX

Mary was frustrated beyond measure. Frustrated because of her sex. Because of her position in society.

Because she did not feel adequately knowledgeable about world events that found young men from her set going off to fight a war in France for the ludicrously male reason it might be all over by spring.

Or get yourself killed, she thought bitterly. Only she didn't want to think those thoughts.

One day it all been Ireland and Home Rule and the potential for civil conflict.

Now one bullet, the death of an heir to a throne, and political and strategic and jingoistic machinations all lead to the disintegration of the life she had known.

And Matthew had left her to join up. How he thought this was something she would be proud of was beyond her.

Yes Matthew, she would mutter bitterly to herself. Go get yourself killed on some foreign battlefield. Of course that's what I want.

They were supposed to be together. Forever. And that required that he live. That they lived happily ever after.

For she had said yes.

After the balls. After her stay with Rosamund, she had answered his question.

She had said yes. Eventually, and in secret to be sure, but she had said yes to him.

They had the entire London season to get to know each other more intimately.

He had loved how she would whisper instructions for secret rendezvous.

She wanted him to love it.

She had noticed his boredom during the doldrums of the mid-Season. And she wanted to rebuild some of the exciting momentum. She had whispered, "midnight in the sun room" as he had whisked her around the floor before he had been snatched away by Lady Flintshire herself for another of the sedate waltzes that so grated his nerves.

He had been prompt.

Had dashed in right as the clock struck. She was in the shadows.

He knew she was there.

Their lips met in a kiss, fierce and searing. Intense in its quickness. Hard and needy. That was the game. To give each other a taste of delights to come. To tempt societal reprimand to satiate their desire.

To see if they were indeed right for each other.

"You are so beautiful this evening." He felt along her back. He could feel her spinal column. He could feel the natural curve of her waist. He stopped before his hands roamed too far down.

That was agony. He wanted to feel her. All of her. Her skin against his skin.

For that she needed to say yes. Once she said yes, then the wedding. Then all things would be permitted.

Matthew was sure. He believed Mary was also.

She wanted to say yes then. In the privacy. In their intimacy. But she made him wait.

He returned to Downton. She stayed in London.

Rosamund told her bluntly you always want the man more in love with you than you with him. That will keep you in good stead all your life.

Mary knew she wanted more than that. Deserved more than that.

Yet she was as practical as Rosamund. She had to be in her position.

Indeed if Mary asked her more practical self why she said yes, she would admit it was because she wasn't getting any younger. As Rosamund reminded her. As she reminded herself.

And she did love Matthew. He was clever. They got on well together. Despite her personality to never do what was expected of her, she loved him.

She respected that he was not quick to anger at her delay.

Matthew had kept his own counsel during Mary's extended time in London.

He allowed her to wait. While others might have forced an answer from her, he waited.

It made the acceptance that much sweeter. She had said yes under their tree.

He had begun to crack. "Do you love me enough?" He had asked. With agony written on his face. She had taken his stoic silence for granted. Until now.

"Do you not want to be married to someone who'll be a lawyer much longer than he'll ever be an earl?" He was the heir to be sure. But it would be a long wait. And she could have a prince or a duke instead.

But she wanted him. "Yes, Matthew, yes. I want to marry you." The words sang and silenced his doubts.

His voice cracked "my darling, my darling." They kissed in the shade and shelter of the tree. "I must go ask your father now...I .. I really should have done it before but I wasn't able to put voice to your delay. But now..." and he kissed her hand, "now..."

But she stopped him. "Let's wait to tell them. Let's keep it a secret for just a bit longer."

Matthew, confused but too happy to deny her anything, agreed.

Then a few days later came the garden party. And the war announcement.

And again she asked him to keep it a secret. It would now look like they impulsively decided to marry because of the war. Mary said they'd wait until she could tell her parents properly.

It would be for the best.

Doubts seeped into his soul again.

She knew those doubts only when he joined up. He had come to Downton and announced he had joined the Duke of Manchester's Own and he was to report to Sandhurst for officer training. That very evening he was to leave.

She saw him to the door. "Why?" She had wanted to scream at him. To beat her fists against his chest. "Why?"

Instead she stood silent. Her face implacably in place. He would not see her weep.

He kissed her cheek. In front of her parents, on his way out the door, it would be inadvisable to do more. And even that might be seen as an affront. He did it anyway. Soft. Quick. His lips leaving her cheek warm and flushed. He whispered, "This will give you time, my darling." Time to be sure. "I will never divulge our secret until you are ready."

Unspoken was Matthew's thought that in case anything happened to him, she would never be considered any kind of war widow.

Her hand gripped his arm. They stood, locked in each other's eyes for just a moment more.

And then he was gone.

And now she was alone.

XX

_Again...we have a loooong way to go in this story. Please take this journey with me! Thanks. (oh and PS: no Pamuk in this story... it's going in a completely different direction)_


	2. Chapter 2:War Comes to Downton

_The war comes to Downton…_

XX

_Winter. January 1915._

Stale, acrid, musty. Those were not the smells Mary expected from her first reunion with Matthew since he left Downton over three months previous.

And even though it was from the cigarettes he had obviously taken up while at training camp she thought of death.

And that was the last thing she needed. So their first kiss, their first hug was awkward, stilted. She leaned in, he moved his lips towards her, but she imperceptibly demurred using the excuse of the crowd of servants and staff gathered in front of Downton to drive the car or get the bags was not the place for a private moment.

But his mouth had tasted of ashes. And she was afraid. So she turned away.

Matthew sensed her discomfort. Not in front of the servants.

But he had been dreaming about it. Dreaming of Mary for months. The reality of what he had done hit him in the first night away from York. Stupid, idiotic man. He had left in a fit of pique. Had signed up. Had signed his death warrant possibly because he resented Mary's delay. His patience, so long endured in the months between his proposal and her acceptance, had reached its limit. She would not make their engagement public.

And even though he had agreed, he felt …or he sensed... she wanted an out. That she indeed, did not love him enough.

He agreed to keeping their engagement secret in the first place because Mary had accepted him. They had stood under a tree and she said yes.

And he thought he wanted nothing else. Mary's acceptance had lifted his heart.

Now he felt crushed. Weighed down. Suffocating.

Would she always make him feel this way? As if he did not know where he stood? As if the ground shifted on sand whenever she was in his presence.

She pulled away from him. Yes it was because it was in public. Yes he understood the social distance necessary. But he had been away.

And she was his girl.

And he wanted to kiss her.

So he brushed her cheek instead.

Mary's look was inscrutable.

Confused, he turned away from her.

"Mother." He said, warmth and sun in his voice as he took his mother's arms. Outstretched for her boy. Oh she had missed him. Missed their talks in the morning before he left for work. At night, a late cup of cocoa. He had generously agreed, after his father's death and the reading of the will had left the family home in Matthew's name that Isobel would stay on. They would live together as a new family of two. Lean on each other. They had continued to do so when the letter "that changed their lives" arrived from Downton two years previous.

Before August 1914 happened, she had thought Mary would take him away from her. And that was as it should be. He loved her with an ache that hurt. She had realized that sooner than either of them. She knew Matthew. He would "choose his own wife." But as soon as that stubborn, intelligent, lovely girl entered their sitting room, she knew he had already chosen.

It had been written all over his face.

So she had not anticipated it would be war that would separate them. War that would take her son away from her.

Isobel hugged her son hard. "We'll talk more later." So many things she wanted to ask.

He understood.

"Robert." He said, facing Lord Grantham for the first time.

Robert Crawley was also in uniform. The North Riding Regiment by the look of it. "Are you called up?" He asked faltering, looking again at Mary despite himself. Robert was in no fit state for service in France.

"No unfortunately. Seems they don't want me. I'll be helping out here and there with the adjutant general. Sort of a general dogs body, really." He sounded disgusted. Matthew couldn't help but chuckle as Robert absent-mindedly pet Isis as he said that.

Yet Matthew was relieved. He nodded disapproval for Robert's sake but he was relieved. This war, he now understood to his utter disgust, was a young man's game. The old school of Robert's generation, war by rules and gentlemanly behavior, was not on show here as far as he could ascertain. No matter how much the drill, the discipline, the old order of things was on display in his regiment. He sensed the atmosphere. He smelt the blood to come.

And it made him different.

He now fully realized, as he had never before, the mask that Mary spoke of to him. The one she wore in public. The one of indifference. The one that kept people at a distance. Cold and calculating it kept him from knowing her innermost thoughts.

He had understood and found it confining all the same time. Then she cracked it. Just for him. First at his proposal. Then at the balls when they were so connected. So intimate.

Why then had it been put in place when she agreed to take his hand in marriage?

They needed to talk while he was on leave. Before he left for France. Before he perfected the mask he now wore. The one of the good soldier. The one that believed in the cause.

Oh, he would be a good soldier. One to fight. To kill. But not necessarily for the causes he was being told. He was too thick into legal training to be bedazzled by king and country, by fight the Hun and save the Belgians. He would fight as he saw it- for his fellow soldiers. To fight and perhaps to die so that they won't have to.

But he needed Mary. He needed her presence in his life. She represented life. The future. Their future. One he had so foolhardily threw away when he joined up when he did not have to.

But the past was another country and the here and now is where he now dwelt.

They needed to talk.

Mary observed Matthew's wan appearance. Her instinct was to reach out and touch him and let the warmth of her skin penetrate.

But she refrained while they were in the public eye. Instead she took his proffered gloved hand and they walked into the house. The heir had returned. They were all to have tea.

The Dowager Countess, Lady Grantham, Edith and Sybil were already seated in the library. Mr. Carson fussed at the table. Anna served the cakes.

Downton survives, Matthew thought. He let the thought slip from his mind as Mary continued to look worried.

So he pushed those thoughts away. "So how is everyone getting on? Sybil? Have you recovered from the season yet?" He knew she'd have something to say about that.

Sybil took the bait. "Well actually I've been thinking about doing some kind of war work."

Violet sniffed. Isobel looked interested.

Matthew smiled. That's our Sybil. "What do you have in mind?" Anything to keep them from talking about his experiences.

Sybil wrinkled her nose in thought. "I'm not sure. I've heard that some women are taking time to see each of the soldiers off at the train station. Or giving tea and cakes. But that seems unnecessary…"

"Well I wouldn't say that Sybil. " Matthew responded gently. "I think… I think that does a lot of good. Good you don't necessarily see, but good that they'll take with them into an unknown future."

Sybil nodded contemplatively. "I see. I'll give it some thought." And they looked each other in the eye. Matthew was happy to be a bit of help.

He turned to Mary. Was that a challenge she saw in his eyes? What? Now she was supposed to measure up to Sybil. "I was at Cliveden recently. To meet up with Lady Sarah and she said those girls are only doing it to find a man in uniform. I don't think we want that for Sybil, surely."

"You were at Cliveden?" Matthew asked. He knew it was a vipers nest of hearsay about the war at their week end parties. Although some politicians and intellectuals presided at Nancy Astor's home, many were there to hobnob and gladhand.

"I'm not a prisoner of Downton." She snapped.

He turned away. In so many ways Mary was still quite young he remembered ruefully.

Her eyes closed slowly. Why did she say that? Why did everything he said provoke her? She bit her tongue but could not take it back. She missed his so much. So terribly. At just three months and she was already worried every moment of every day.

But she said none of these things. She did not know how to say them. They sounded weak. Selfish. They were told to be strong. To not be a burden on the men leaving for war. To not talk about things.

The chitchat was oddly soothing to Matthew's ears. Violet and Isobel sparring about how the hospital could best function in the war. Robert speaking to him about the workers who have volunteered and how that spoke well of the estate.

"If you had joined the Riding I could have put in a good word…."Robert was confused why Matthew had chosen a regiment closer to his old life. He wanted his heir to join a Yorkshire regiment. To be part of the comradery of the estate.

"I knew it was what you wanted, Robert. And I appreciate it. But I… I wanted to do it on my own." He smiled a thin smile, hoping Robert would either understand or change the subject.

The older man harrumphed. "So how was training?" Robert asked, changing the subject. Matthew breathed out.

"My eyes have been opened." Matthew said in all honesty.

"Don't I know it." Robert replied. The two men had walked away from the ladies. As if war talk was not done in front of them.

They stood near the window casements.

"You got my message about using our London tailor for your uniform." Robert looked sideways at Mathew. Even if he wasn't in the Yorkshire regiment, he wanted his heir to dress his best.

"I did." Matthew replied. "I am most grateful." He meant it. Oddly the uniform helped him understand the role he was about to play. It made him sit straighter. Stand taller. He had gone to Robert's tailor who was already doing a booming business in officer uniforms. He was outfitted accordingly in the finest Barathea wool with satin lining and gold brass buttons. He now looked the part. His Webley revolver scared him a bit. But he was learning how to handle it.

But he still felt a fraud. It was apparent already to him in the mess as he finished up training camp and reported to The Duke of Manchester's Own headquarters. OTC men who had studied together at college at Cambridge or Oxford. Had trained for a few weeks and now presented themselves, tailored and girded as an officer. They had welcomed him. Well as soon as they found out he was the heir to the Earl of Grantham they welcomed him. He accepted their friendship. He realized he was going to need it.

"I promised to do my duty, I've begun to memorize the Field Service Regulations. Learned to drill and march and to punch a hay filled dummy with a bayonet. But I still feel like a raw recruit."

"That won't really go away until you get your orders …" Robert swallowed hard. It hit him suddenly. The memory of his own war experiences. The cold followed by searing heat of the veldt. The sounds of the bullets.

Was this what he wanted for his heir? The idea of becoming a man in the crucible of war. No. He had, he hoped at least, outgrown those foolish notions of his youth. He saw it all around him now though. War fever. Just as he had it in '99. Boys becoming men. The nation expects…

Robert suddenly sighed heavily. It had all become too real. "If you can meet with triumph and disaster and treat those two impostors just the same…"

Matthew picked up the thread "If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken, twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools. " He stopped. Wasn't he already a man? Being trained to kill?

"Kipling's words have never been truer, I think. I've already met with several knaves and fools already." Matthew's snide tone could not be mistaken. He would do his best.

"Yes." Robert was being motioned to by Cora. "Let's go rejoin the ladies." Matthew nodded and they moved back towards the cakes and the tea.

XX  
>Matthew and Mary were finally allowed some alone time after the tea had been cleared by Carson and everyone retired to write letters or get ready for the dinner gong.<p>

They lingered behind. Cora noticed but said nothing. Mary had not confided everything to her. She knew something was up between them. Something had been arranged. She needed to talk to Mary, and soon.

But for now she left them.

Matthew threw himself down on the divan. Everything seemed the same. Everything seemed different. And this sensation, he realized, would only get more surreal the longer the war went on.

He reached out for Mary's hand. She was so beautiful.

Mary turned, surprised at her mother's actions. Leaving them alone was not accepted protocol. Did Cora suspect something? Over the past ten or so weeks while Matthew was away, Mary had created a version of plausible deniability regarding any understanding between herself and her distant cousin. In case anyone suspected. She would simply say that she and Matthew had given up their past sparring and fighting and become friends.

Their engagement was her secret. She spent her life living out the expectations of others. Doing her mother's and grandmother's bidding. Listening to her father go on and on about the entail and the need for a male heir. Shopping for male companions along with her sisters at weekend balls and country dances. Never even dressing alone, but always having a servant help her. Privileged for sure. But also living a public life even in private.

And now she had her secret. And she liked it. Matthew had given her a ring. The night before he left for training. They had slipped away from the good bye dinner and out into the foyer for a moment alone. He presented it her with bated breath, knowing they had only a few minutes.

"Matthew," She had said, turning red and losing her practiced cool for just a moment.

"It's my grandmothers." He had said in a rush. "Mother…mother gave it to me a year ago for safe keeping. 'Just in case,' she had hinted. But at the time, I thought she was dreaming." Matthew looked into Mary's eyes. "Now I'm the one dreaming, Mary. And those dreams have come true. For me. For us." His breath hot next to her face.

She slipped the ring on her finger. "I'll wear it at night."

A pained look gripped his face. "I…I don't understand why we can't tell everyone. It…it seems wrong." The ever understanding good son came out in Matthew. Not being able to tell Isobel. To shout it to the world,even.

"You're going away. Everything is changing." Mary said. "It's not the time. I want it to stay between us. Just a little longer." And with a quick kiss, hot and sweet, he had once again agreed to her terms.

So now she came to sit beside him on the red divan. "Do you have the ring?" He asked. He wanted to see it so on her finger.

She had left it upstairs. "No. Not on me." He touched her finger where it should have been.

"I see." He rubbed her knuckle back and forth.

"I wear it at night." She gently reminded him.

"I'll think of that tonight then." He did not want to argue about this. Not now. Not when they have such limited time to themselves. Carson would be in to retrieve him back to Crawley House to change before he knew it.

This was precious time.

Mary smiled at his slightly suggestive confession. What did Matthew think at night? Were they thinking the same thoughts? Hers had surprised her recently. Shocked her in their palpable desire. To touch his hands. To have his hands touch her body. To need him more than she ever thought possible. To have his hands roam free over her skin. Her eyes closed at that image.

"Are you cold?" Matthew asked. "Come here." And he wrapped his arms around her shoulders. They sank against each other. Melded into each other. He kissed her forehead and her hair.

He now tasted sweet.

"Do you think of me often?" She asked.

Matthew's breath was sharp. "Yes." He confessed.

"When?"

"When I can't sleep." Or when the idea of what was to meet him in France gripped him so hard it was either think of Mary or give in to the nausea inducing fear.

He chose to think of Mary. Of her hair. Of her dancing. Of her quick wit as she tore him to pieces with her mercurial logic.

She snuggled closer. Wanting to feel him so that when he was gone she would have this memory.

"Edith is going to drive tractors, you know." Mary had said this while he stroked her hand. He stopped suddenly. Guffawed slightly.

"What?" He asked, but refused to move his hand.

"On a farm." Mary continued. "All the men are joining up and this farmer…the one your mother treated for dropsy or something last year, he needs someone to drive a tractor."

"Well that's admirable I suppose." Matthew had always felt a kinship to Edith, despite her misguided belief that they might have made a match of it. Matthew had always had only one Crawley woman in his mind.

"She just wants to show off that she's better than the rest of us." She sniffed. "I'm just glad I don't have to see her after she returns from the farm. Probably smelling like pigs. Thank God we have separate rooms. I'd rather sleep on the roof than share with Edith."

Matthew had to smile at that. Everything was quite the same at Downton.

"You're impossible, you know that." He lifted her chin to his face.

"And you love it." She teased back. She lifted her fingers to place a lost forelock back across his hairline.

"I do." He kissed her, deep and hard. "I do indeed." And there was no more talking needed between them.

Her touch had undone him. He wanted her desperately. With a need he could never express until they were wed. He was not sure he could hold out much longer.

Mary sensed his desperation, and was made both anxious and tempted by it. His hard lips sought hers out. He kissed her in ways he had never done before. His tongue scrapped the top of her mouth. He clung to her. She felt his strong muscles along her forearms.

A man's kiss. A kiss of man about to go to war. Not the stuff of dreams. But the needs of a real man.

Was she really ready to meet that kiss? Those expectations? Those needs?

She pulled away from him suddenly fearful. She wasn't ready. And she knew it. There was so much about the war she did not understand. The newspapers were full of battles at places called Mons and the river Marne. The death toll had already become such that they no longer openly spoke of it in public. The mourning became silent, unobserved by the rest of society.

This fear paralyzed her. She would rather be without him. Be without the engagement or a marriage than face the reality of him dead, of herself a young widow.

She shivered.

He wasn't to be told of that fear. She had been warned not to speak of such things. But she knew she could not go through with their continued engagement.

She would have to break it off.

XX

Please please review! I really want your input!

_Forgive me for leaving it there. Mary is confused. Please don't blame her for such thoughts. I love her and think she's venting her fear with sarcasm. She's very young remember and sheltered. These thoughts don't come from selfishness but fear. Fear that it's better for both of them not to wed out of some misguided notions of the romance of war. We'll s__ee how all this plays out in the next few chapters. I did warn everyone this story is going to be angsty…_


	3. Chapter 3: The Things that Matter

_Starting where we ended…_

XX

She pulled away from him suddenly fearful. She wasn't ready. And she knew it. There was so much about the war she did not understand. The newspapers were full of battles at places called Mons and the river Marne. The death toll had already become such that they no longer openly spoke of it in public. The mourning became silent, unobserved by the rest of society.

This fear paralyzed her. She would rather be without him. Be without the engagement or a marriage than face the reality of him dead, of herself a young widow.

She shivered.

Instead she would have to break it off.

Mary stood up. Faced him.

"I think we should pull back." She fiddled with her necklace.

"What?" He looked up sharply, his tone slightly incredulous.

"I've been thinking and I'm thinking this is the wrong time for any kind of wedding. With the war…" she trailed off. And so did her nerve.

"You're just scared." Saying the first thing that came to mind, Matthew's mind was actually racing.

"Aren't we all?" She recovered.

"Yes." He was frightened all the time now. But he had to appear cool and silent amongst the public. That was the order of the day as demanded by his superiors. The civilian population was not to be affected by his own piercing doubts.

"Then it's the not time. These things should be done in calmer waters." She said more firmly this time.

"I didn't mean to push about the secrecy. Let's…let's just keep it as it is…" Matthew's voice was raised in a whispered pitch. What was she getting at? "You're not thinking clearly."

She closed her eyes. Trying to pull it together, she had to get through this. "I am thinking clearly. Women are going all agog over men in uniform and rushing out to get married in some kind of desperate romantic gesture. Well that's not for me. We made our engagement when the world was a different place. It's not like that anymore."

"That's for sure."

"So you agree?"

"What? Agree that it's foolish to get married for romance? For love? I agree that it's always the time to do that."

She scoffed. "You know that's not what I mean."

"Are you saying you no longer love me?"

"Matthew." She sighed. "How many times to I have to tell you that? You act like such a wounded lover."

"Because on a whim you leave me out to hang. To call it off because it's not convenient? No I don't agree with that. If we do that there will never be a convenient time. And if you do, you're thinking rather irrationally. And incredibly selfish." Matthew's irritation reaching a new level of panic.

"Oh and leaving me in the lurch is rational Matthew? Leaving me to go join the army without telling me is not the height of selfishness? Leaving me standing there in front of my parents, in front of the servants, sending you off to war like the brave lady I'm supposed to be …. all alone, because… because why? Because why Matthew?" Her tone now unnervingly calm.

He said nothing.

"Exactly. That's incredibly selfish as well. And cruel. And I don't think we're right for each other after all. We hurt each other too much. It's too hard. It's all just too hard." And before she broke further, she left. Fled really. The room. The room had become stifling and she could hardly breathe.

Fled past Carson who was on his way to break up the tête-à-tête he suspected was going on in the library. He had intended to gently remind Mr. Crawley that his mother was waiting for him in the salon to retire back to Crawley House to prepare for dinner.

His heart hardened against Matthew. How dare he make his lady cry? What had he done now to her?

Carson yielded to the touching tableau he saw as he opened the door. Matthew stood, frozen in place, mouth agape and eyes unblinking. He looked as if the world had fallen out beneath his feet.

He could now feel nothing but pity for this young couple, entrenched in the midst of forces they were too young to fathom.

XX

"Mary of course you'll come down to dinner. We have guests." Cora's voiced was pinched with strain. What had come over her eldest daughter?

"Mama for once can I be excused from doing my duty." Mary's face was contorted with the tears she was hiding. Her voice though was curt, cutting.

"No. It's Matthew's only night at Downton. Tomorrow he's being dragged to some territorial dinner by your father. Don't you want to see him?"

"I saw him just now. I have a headache. Isn't that enough…." Mary sat down on the bed. Cora would not leave without some kind of explanation, but she was not ready to discuss her situation with Matthew with her mother who, she knew would be judgmental about the rash engagement in the first place.

"Young lady you will appear downstairs. We have Lord Merton in for the evening. He's working for the War Office and is only in York for a few days. As is Matthew." And she stared over at Mary. "Can you tell me what's going on between the two of you?"

Mary simply shook her head. But relented. "I'll come down to dinner."

"Thank you." Cora's voice was calming down. "I'll send for Anna." She walked over to Mary and put her hand on her shoulder. "Mary darling, can we talk later?"

Mary responded to the warmth of her mother's touch. Cora felt Mary start to shake. "Oh darling, darling…" And she sat down next to her.

"What is it?" Cora's fingers tugged at Mary's chin until Mary was facing her.

Mary started to tell but then stopped abruptly. "If I tell you, you must promise to keep it between us."

Cora sniffed. "Mary you make everything so dramatic."

"I'm serious. He proposed to me."

"What? When?" Cora could not believe her ears.

"Months ago. After Sybil's encounter at the by election." Mary swallowed. It was out now.

"Oh, my dear... Have you given him an answer?" If Cora was surprised she tried not to show it.

"At first I told him that I'd think about it." Mary dodged it again.

"Well, that's an advance on what it would have been a year ago. Do you want to marry him?"

"I know you want me to marry him." She maneuvered the conversation away from her own emotions.

"What we want doesn't matter. At least, it's not all that matters." Cora could not deny that it would tidy everything up with the entail. And Mary's never been the easiest one to find a proper and acceptable suitor. Matthew fit the bill.

"Do you love Matthew?" Almost as an afterthought. Cora had never even considered the possibility that Mary would overcome her aversion to being told who to marry.

"Yes." Mary surprised herself with the confidence in her voice. "I think perhaps I do. I think I may have loved him for much longer than I knew."

This was no longer the question. But as Matthew kept insisting, how much did she love him? Did she love him enough? Mary started to cry. The tears, unwanted uninvited, still streamed down her face. "He doubts it though. He sensed I was reluctant and went off and joined up without even asking me. Now does that sound like someone who wants to marry?"

Mary took control over her emotions again. Her voice turned brittle. "He accused me of being selfish." She sniffled. "He's the one being selfish." But she knew she didn't entirely mean it.

"Oh, my darling." Cora takes Mary's hand. She forgot how young Mary still was. She put on such an air of calculation and control that Cora almost began to believe that nothing would ever hurt Mary for she would never allow it.

"Life can be terribly unfair, can't it?" Mary had allowed herself to think of a future for herself and Matthew. After her acceptance. She had dreamt about it at night. They could make it all work out to everyone's happiness. That she could make her parents proud.

"It certainly can." Cora well understood. She had been pushed into a marriage by her own mother for title and family. To a man who had not loved her. But one where they had grown to love each other. Mary and Matthew's road to love had been full of bumps and bruises. Her willful daughter. His stubborn pride.

"Everything seems so golden one minute, then turns to ashes the next." She turned to Cora. "The odd thing was, I felt...for the first time, really...I understood what it was to be happy. It's just that now I know that I won't be. He's going away. He might not come back. I …. Don't know that I can take that." And she closed her eyes. "God he's right that is selfish. But it's how I feel."

"You're both still very young. I think you're right that you should wait. Now that he's in the war. You should wait." Cora's own practical side reasserting itself. "There's no point in rushing things."

"But what if he… if he…" She could not end the sentence.

How well Cora remembered that emotion as well. Sending a man off to a faraway war. Helpless to do anything to stop him. It had not mattered then whether she and Robert had been married or not. She worried anyway. She thought she could spare Mary, however, some of the burdens she had to bear.

"You'll worry. Fret. Be scared. It's natural. But you must stay strong. That's the main thing. Our job is to be strong for them. But you can do that in ways other than being married. As you said, this has come up all of a sudden. You can take everything one step at a time."

Mary appreciated her mother's words more than she could say. "Thank you mama." She stood up, dried her tears with a handkerchief.

"I'm ready." Squared her shoulders. "Please send Anna in." Mary stood in front of the full length mirror and withdrew back into herself.

Cora sighed, realizing that Mary still was fooling herself. But it was a start. Sometimes just the appearance of strength brings strength. So it might with Mary.

XX

Dinner talk was confined to polite subjects. Lord Merton gossiped with Violet about old friends he now worked with at the War Office. "You know how absent minded Burke is. He goes about the office, pretending he's in charge. Just like he did when Robert and I were children. But then forgets what room the strategy session is to be held." He chuckled lightly and took a sip of wine.

"So good to know the war is being run so well." Violet acutely observed.

Matthew's eyes got large at Merton's casual admission of incompetence. But he said nothing. There was nothing to say. The Asquith government had reluctantly gone to war to defend the Belgians and as a result the regular army was underfunded and unprepared for the entrenched warfare that soon resulted from that inadequate defense. The government seemed to be following suit.

That was a reality he and the rest of the Kitchener's New Army would face when deployed to the front within the month. He was easing into the reality that he would constantly be barraged with doubts, with criticism he would never be able to voice. He was the good soldier. And all he had to do was survive.

Mary did not meet his eyes at all during the dinner. The conversation at their end was awkward with Sybil providing some relief with an extended commentary on how she had managed to get one of the younger servant girls a job as a secretary.

Matthew nodded politely, but was barely listening. He needed to get Mary alone. But everything was so circumscribed that without her help it would be impossible.

The ladies soon left the men to the sherry and cigars. Talk turned more directly to military matters. The course of the Ypres salient campaign.

They talked bluster and everyone at the table knew it. But said nothing.

Merton began to start once more analyzing the finer details of the taking up defensive positions to hold the advance of the German Army. "I would have loved to be fly on the wall in French's quarters when Foch roused him to scream "hammer away hammer away" as observers had spotted a gap in the boche's line. Of course we were the smallest forces out on the field, but we proved our mettle that day."

Robert puffed on the end of his cigar and huffed an approving endorsement of the analysis.

"The artillery needs more support, however, and the men will need to better trained to keep their heads together under fire. " Merton gazed over at Matthew as if he wanted the younger man's acquiescence.

Instead Matthew could no longer take the armchair generalship on display at the table. He interjected "Our Regular Army regimental drill sergeant is six foot ten. Drill Sergeant Smithson. Smartest man in the regiment. Told me the other day that if I didn't learn to march with my shoulders back I might just do myself a permanent injury and prejudice my chances of ever becoming a father…" Matthew chuckled at the memory.

Robert gave Matthew a side eye but Lord Merton roared with laughter. "Had the same kind of drill sergeant myself. Told me my knees knocked together and was so loud that the enemy would hear me long before I could ever get my revolver out to shoot."

Matthew preferred the light talk to any real accounting of the war. It was easier to pretend that way.

Yet Robert could not mistake the haunted look that crossed the young man's face. "Come on. Let's rejoin the ladies."

But Matthew had enough for one evening. "Would you mind Robert." He asked as put down his sherry glass. Robert put out his cigar and the two men left the table to Carson and Mason to clean up. "If I gave up the rest of the evening. I have a tremendous headache coming on and I really think I want to go home." They left the dining room. Matthew turned towards the front door.

"I'll walk back, I think. Tell mother for me would you?" He looked Robert in the eye. "I … I just don't think I can do anymore tonight."

Robert patted him on the back. "I will make the proper excuses." Matthew smiled a half smile. Retrieved his great coat from Barrow at the front door and left.

He was exhausted. The day had been so topsy turvy. Nothing had turned out the way he had planned. And he had no idea how to proceed. Mary and he had danced their way around talking throughout the meal. Of course they had been separated in between Isobel at the table and there was no real chance for any private conversation.

And that was other reason for his mental exhaustion. His playacting at the table. That all was fine. That he was not feeling out of time and place. A half existence he suddenly realized. For his real life, the life he now a saw as his life, was in the regiment. A regiment about to be sent to France within the fortnight.

He reached into his pocket for the pack of cigarettes. Mary, the princess royal and daughter to King George V, had sent out Christmas brass boxes to all the men in a most generous offer. The box included pipe tobacco, cigarettes, pipe, and tinder lighter. Even the Gurkhas received gifts according to their religious beliefs.

He snickered to himself as he lit it. Mary had hated it that he took up smoking. He had not meant to do it. But it was one way to get know his fellow officers in the mess. The comradery was the one good thing that resulted from his rash decision. Despite the differences he still felt in class and station, he met several other lieutenants from his university college. Many of them were arrogant prats of course, but he learned which ones to avoid. Especially on the battlefield, he would steer clear of them. The espirit de corps instilled in them was partially a fraud but he could see the benefit of the lie. They would all have to learn to live with each other in close quarters. And to lean on each other in the worst of conditions.

So he took up smoking and joined them in the mess. He drank with them in the pubs on the week end.

And looked around and realized that not all of them would live to see the end of this war. And he drank some more.

Leaving the Abbey, he turned up his collar to the winter chill. The flame produced by the flint strike he put it to the tobacco was caught by the wind and swirled about but he managed to light the cigarette. The burnt end glowed red against the black of the night.

He made his way back to Crawley House, silent except for the crunching noises made by his shoes on the thin layer of ice that covered the footpath.

He didn't think he ever had felt more alone.

XX

"Snap out of this Matthew and tell me what is all this about?" Isobel's sharp no nonsense tone was unmistakable. It was one that had plagued his boyhood as he got into mischief and had to confess to tearing his short pants while attempting to slide down the hillside back of their Manchester home or sneaking out to the pub with his mates at sixteen when he supposed to studying to get into university.

He had been moping all day. Wallowing really. Lethargic in the morning he overslept. No one came to wake him or open the blinds so he assumed his mother told Mrs. Bird to leave him alone. He dressed and came down for lunch but was monosyllabic at best towards his mother who chatted about all the conversions to the hospital undertaken by herself and Dr. Clarkson.

"As a matter of fact…" Isobel side eyed her son who muttered an occasional 'yes' or 'really' while staring out the casement window. "…yes as a matter of fact Richard has asked me to marry him and I think I will and we'll honeymoon in Spain before setting up shop in America because that is the land of opportunity." She sat back and took a sip of tea and waited for the reaction.

"That's nice" Matthew mumbled at first. Then he shifted in his chair as something was wrong. He then looked up sharply at his now amused as punch mother as the information finally soaked into his brain. "What?"

Isobel snorted. "Welcome back to earth. Now can we talk?"

Matthew had to laugh. He popped the rest of his sandwich into his mouth and swallowed some tea. He did feel better all of a sudden. He had not wanted to worry his mother about his fears. She knew well enough, indeed better than most, about war having nursed soldiers in the Boer War. And there was nothing she could do to help assuage his concerns on that matter.

But Mary, now… maybe she could help him there. Although Isobel's feelings towards Mary have always seemed lukewarm at best of times, he knew that she would have accepted his choice of bride with open arms. But now, now Mary's put it off again. Perhaps forever. Part of him understood her. Their engagement had been made under different circumstances. The Before as Matthew now saw it. Full of hope and a future together.

Now they're living in The After and he had not consulted her. And as his intended wife he should have. He should have told her his intention to join up. But instead he left, thinking that if he gave it any more thought he would not have done so. She said she needed a bit more time. And when he offered up his services to king and country he thought he was giving her that space. That time. Now he realized, as the war casualties mounted and the lines became entrenched, that it would be years not months. That expanse of time was now a chasm between them.

What could he do?

He remembered when Evelyn Napier first visited and had brought the newspaper baron Richard Carlisle with him to visit. Isobel had dismissed them as "men to be flung at Mary presumably."

"When it comes to Cousin Mary, she is quite capable of doing her own flinging, I assure you." He had responded as if her barbs had no effect on his psyche.

But they had. They had indeed. Especially as she proceeded to flirt outrageously with both men the entire evening while shutting Matthew out.

He steamed and fumed throughout the dinner but when it came time to join the ladies and Mary continued to primp and show Richard around the library, with the pretense that she was actually interested in his newspaper holdings, he had enough. He knew it was petulant but he left without a word to anyone. Returned home and poured himself a large whisky. He sat in the Crawley House drawing room, watching the crackling fire, and realized he loved Mary so much that even her hurting him would not make a difference.

Now they had done it again. The hurt. The pain. The collective baggage of a long suffering relationship.

But the love was still there. Her rejection had only to do with fear. Not an abandonment of their love.

What was he going to do?

"Mother." He finally said. "I've been keeping something from you."

Isobel paused. Closed her eyes. She had figured that much out already. She steadied herself for what he was about to say. She had an inkling but needed confirmation.

"I asked Mary to marry me." He swallowed. "Months ago now." A lifetime ago it now seemed really.

Isobel slowly nodded. Yes that was as she thought.

"After Sybil's London season, we became engaged. Secretly engaged. Mary wanted to wait until the right moment to tell cousin Robert."

And to give herself an out, Isobel thought rather cynically. But said, "Well that is good news."

"Yes well," Matthew continued before he could give the wrong impression. "It's all changed again."

"Ah." Suspicion confirmed.

"Don't say it like that Mother." Matthew's voice slightly peeved and knowing.

"Continue." Taking a sip of tea Isobel tried to stop her racing thoughts on the matter.

"She now wants to put a pause on the engagement. To …to pull back. Because of the war I guess…." He trailed off not really knowing how to continue.

"I'm very sad to hear that." She replied quickly. "I thought Mary was made of better stuff. Young men are going off to war the least the women can do is be supportive."

Even as she spoke the words, though Isobel wanted to bite them back. For they weren't true. When Reggie announced he was joining the medical corps and was to tend the wounded in South Africa, Isobel had fought him tooth and claw. Giving him all the reasons he should not go. That their life was in England, Matthew having just started attending a new public school. The upshot was Reggie had gone. She had begun to train as a nurse. To do something yes for the war effort. But to also do something to stop the longing and the loneliness. To stop the anger against Reggie, against the world for turning everything she knew upside down.

"Don't speak against her." Matthew was seldom sharp with Isobel but his instinct now moved him to defend Mary. Even though presumably he was the hurt party.

"You're right." Isobel stopped. "I spoke out of haste." She put down her cup. Sat back against the hard wooden chair. "What do you want to do?"

"That's just it Mother." The edge of frustration in his tone. "I don't know. I just don't know." He shoved his own chair back. "I think maybe she's right. It is the wrong time to be thinking about a life together when everything…" he faultered. "… Everything is changed. To ask Mary to spend her life with me, when I'm not going to be just a solicitor." Isobel scoffed at that. They both knew Mary's prejudice towards a more aristocratic lifestyle. Matthew looked over at her but continued, "But a soldier. A soldier who is not even going to be home for the majority of any kind of married life."

"Many people get married during war." Isobel gently reminded him.

"Yes. In haste perhaps. Under false pretensions. I don't need that from her. I don't want that from her." Matthew said. "I want a marriage where both parties are sure. And now… now I'm not sure either."

"So it's best that it be put off." Isobel wasn't sure this was not just Matthew making the best of the situation. But she did approve with his reasoning.

"Yes. So that… that… if something should happen to me, she can go on without the burden of being neither free nor wife. Free to find someone else."

"Oh Matthew." Isobel's pained look made him want to bite his words back.

"I'm sorry. I was told not to speak of such possibilities. But it plagues my mind. We were all told to write a will you know. " He said almost in whisper. "I had been meaning to update the will I wrote in Manchester when we still lived there. I thought I had plenty of time. But there I was in that office having to think of how to provide for you in case of my… of my…." He could not finish the sentence as Isobel moved swiftly around the table to embrace him.

"Hush my boy." She hugged him fiercely. "Hush. Everything will be as it will be. We'll talk no more about that."

Mrs. Bird arrived at that moment to break the tension in the room. Matthew stood up, took his mother's hands and gripped them tight. They understood each other.

"I've got some letters to write. Then I have to get ready for this dinner of Robert's." He tried to grin. Pulled one eyebrow up. "As long as it keeps him happy. And out of the war. I shouldn't be too long."

Isobel began to discuss some shopping issues and some potential cutting back on some luxury items so Matthew made his escape.

In the office, however, another idea came to Matthew. A way to talk to Mary. Alone.

He scribbled a note on some stationary. Enclosed the note in an envelope and sealed it. He just needed now to give it to his mother for safe delivery that evening.

He let himself enjoy a fraction of hope.

XX

The train was late. Matthew was grateful. Mary had not yet arrived. Isobel had done as he had asked and hand delivered his note to her the evening before. His note, written in haste as he did not want to second guess his words, asked that she meet him before he left back to London and the final deployment to France.

"_Please let me say good-bye."_ He had written. "_I won't leave until I can say good-bye to you properly_."

His eyes scanned the platform. No train. No Mary.

Not yet.

He fixed his cap on his head. Put his gloves on. All to have something to do. It had been awful enough saying his goodbyes to Isobel. She had maintained the stiff upper lip. He left by the shortcut through the church yard. Arrived to find the train late.

So he waited. There were very few people to take the early morning train so his thoughts and his pacing were his own.

Suddenly he turned hearing the unmistakable click click of heeled shoes on the wooden platform.

Mary.

She had come.

Mary's smile was crooked. Wavering. When Isobel had slipped the note into Mary's hand the previous evening saying to her, "From Matthew, my dearest girl," her heart beat out of her chest. Her heart, the one she doubted she had, spoke to her that night as she read his words and his request that she meet him at the train station.

She had done so. Slipped past the scullery maid and the boot boy, down the stairs even as a startled Daisy was on her way up to light the fire in her room. Out the front door and across the lawn. What would she say to him? Did he want her to recant her words of the other day? Did she want to?

Matthew moved towards her. ""Thank you for coming. You must have been up before the servants."

"They were rather surprised to see me." Standing next to him. Hearing his halted breathing. He was just as nervous as she.

"Mary." His saying her name giving him strength. "Mary I want you to know that I understand. I regret what I said the other day. I did rush into this, placing you in a position that I had no right to prejudge."

"My words were said in haste." Mary also tried to make amends. They had such limited time. No time to leave anything in anger. "But I…I…." Her head slumped down.

"It's all right, my darling." Matthew interjected. "I agree that we should leave things of a more permanent nature to the future." He fumbled over the words. "The world is an unsettled place. And we both have other obligations right now."

Mary's mouth quivered. So much for her dutiful act. She was a mess. "Yours is to come back to us safe and sound." Reasserting her purpose for accepting his note. She wanted to send him off with the encouraging words she had heard from others.

"I'll try not to be a hero. If that's what you're afraid of."

"Just come back. I'll be here." It was the waiting game of women she realized ironically. Sending them off while they waited. And in the waiting held the demons of fear and anxiety.

"I want to give you something." He pulled a small box out of his pocket.

She looked quizzical. The engagement ring was still in the box in her nightstand. His note said for her to keep it safe for the future.

So what was this?

He handed it to her to open. The spring was stiff and it took a bit of effort for her to open the top. When she did so she gave a small gasp. Inside was a beautiful silver pin.

"It's the Duke of Manchester's Own regimental badge." Matthew explained. "You wear it in your cap." And he pointed to the spot on his own serge trench cap. "But really we can give them out to wives…" he stuttered. Coughed. "…and sweethearts to wear." His cap had the brass replacement that was also given to the officers.

Mary pulled the pin button back off of the badge to release it from its casing. It was a handsomely designed silver star set against a cobalt blue backdrop.

"It means you're my girl." Matthew said. "A promise." His lop sided grin making him appear so much younger than the uniform belied.

He tore off one glove and helped her affix the badge to her collar. "You can wear it, knowing you've sent me off to war a happy man."

Mary's eyes met Matthew's in a moment of pure understanding. She tiptoed up and leaned towards his face. He moved towards her face. They clasped hands as their lips came together. Warm and sweet they refused to part. To let go.

The piercing whistle of the conductor broke their reverie.

"Goodbye then." He let go of her hands.

She kissed him again, soft and lingering, on the cheek. "Suck good luck." Whispered as an invocation of hope and trust.

"Good bye, Mary. And God bless you." Their hands slip away from each other.

The conductor practically pushed Matthew into the train car. He got in threw his bag on the seat and opened the window as the steam rose from the engines as the train took off from the station platform. In the midst of the steam he could still see Mary. He put his body outside the window so he could see her better as the train took them apart from each other.

He waved his cap. She waved her gloved hand back.

He could no longer see her so he heavily threw himself down onto the seat of the compartment. The journey into the unknown had begun.

XX

Mary returned to Downton more determined than ever. If this war was to last as it now seemed it was going to, she would have to find something to fill the time.

Fill it usefully. She could let have Sybil have all the glory after all.

Life was somehow slipping away from her. And there was nothing she could do to stop it.

So she would have to make the best of it.

Mary found her mother at breakfast. If Cora was surprised at Mary's arrival looking a bit dusty and windblown, she said nothing. Indeed she had hoped Mary would go see Matthew before he left.

In a voice, determined despite her nerves, Mary said, "I want to do something Mama. I think I won't be any good at nursing or driving a tractor but I want to do something. I want to learn all about the house accounting for a start. You are going to be very busy with all these war committees I see popping up everywhere. So I can relieve some of your responsibilities to the house. I can take those on. And we'll go from there."

Cora, it was true, was feeling overwhelmed with committee work. So many aristocratic families were being told to help out where they could, and she had been contacted by Almina, the Countess of Carnarvon to sit with her on planning various schemes to improve soldiers' general welfare.

"I think that's a very good idea." Cora saw the Manchester silver badge on Mary's collar. She was greatly relieved her wayward daughter and her persevering suitor finally agreed on some kind of terms, and that those terms did not include a hasty marriage or a permanent break. The war would see to the rest.

Mother and daughter smiled at each other. The sun lit the room. The day had dawned bright and clear as it often did at Downton, yet everything had changed. So much was still to change.

They would all have to pull together and see it through.

XX

_Of course…the path of true love seldom runs smooth (just a warning…)Please write and tell me your thoughts. I've noticed not so many folks leaving reviews…is this because you don't like it? Oh dear… we do have a long way to go!_

_And I used a quote from "The Duchess of Duke Street" to have Matthew talk about his drill sgt. I suspect the writers of that show also took it from an original source of a soldier's memory so it seemed appropriate. _


	4. Chapter 4: Close and Far Away

_The next bit of the story… Mary's life has changed…._

_May 1915_

XX

Mary insisted. Exhilaration filled her body. She was in charge of these matters. She stood on firm ground. She found that the process of learning household accounts gave her a sense of power and authority. A self-assurance for when she took control of Downton. In years past, she had never bothered to think much beyond the marriage presumably arranged by her family to some duke or other such assorted heir. She had known that she would preside over a series of servants, be an ornament on her husband's arm, and learn to live with second best and half a life.

So she had never taken her mother up on learning anything about menu planning, wines, or household balance sheets. Mary would snappily respond that she'd leave all that up to Carson after I stole him to live with us. Or she'd say isn't that what we pay a chef d' cuisine for?

But the war had changed all that. So many changes had come to Downton. So many of the groomsmen, gardeners, house boys, and younger servants had volunteered. So many had sacrificed.

And she was learning to take charge.

"Mama it's clear." Her voice clear, clipped. "With Sybil away at nursing school and Edith…" her eyes rolled back with disdain dripping "…eating sandwiches in some filthy barn with a farmer we can cut back on menu items."

Cora, sitting on the divan as Mary turned away from the desk to face her mother, nodded slowly.

Feeling the momentum shift Mary continued "And with Matthew and Papa away for who knows how long…" Mary's voice caught in her throat, but she cleared it and quickly moved to her point, "You can eat downstairs for all meals…"

Cora interrupted with a murmur of protest, "I don't see how that will help…" Robert had taken up a position as requisitions officer with the Adjutant General's office. He was often in London these days. It had pleased him no end, however, to have found a niche in the war effort. Cora found herself often alone and breakfast in bed was still her only real indulgence.

But Mary had that covered as well. "Of course it will Mama. You will be dressed, fed, and ready to get out for all your committee meetings." She gained confidence as Cora's head started to reluctantly nod in agreement.

"And …" she delivered the final blow to end all arguments with the onset of the war "… it will show we are all doing our part to sacrifice extravagance for the duration."

Mary had been told that on so many recent occasions it felt good to deliver it to someone else herself.

Her mother relented with a restrained cough. "Let me see the list of items." Mary handed over the sheet of paper off the library desk. Cora looked over the list Mary had created of foodstuffs that could be eliminated from each meal. At first Cora had been more than a little skeptical at Mary's insistence upon such voluntary rationing, but she could not very well disapprove.

All the committees she sat upon insisted upon the appearance of women giving their efforts entirely over to the war effort. Lady Prudence Fairfax from Bryce Park wanted Downton as a venue for a wounded officer's party. That woman, Cora realized could only be taken in small doses. Her tendency to take all credit and imply that she's working harder for God, King, and Country was severely trying on Cora's already fragile nerves.

To say nothing about Isobel. Cora had already begun, upon Isobel's insistence, to participate in the Red Cross drive to collect clothing and toiletries throughout the county. Indeed Isobel's keen drive to participate in any number of committees drove Cora more than a little mad. Whenever she indulged in any kind of recreational activities, she could intuit the former nurse's sniff of disapproval.

Isobel was visiting later on about a series of county concerts to raise funds and sell raffle tickets for various voluntary efforts. In addition Isobel had met Lady Almina the Countess of Carnarvon when she toured Highclere Castle and its set up as a hospital for wounded soldiers. The two got on like two peas in a pod and both were now intent upon opening up Downton in a similar capacity. Or at the very least a convalescent home.

Violet, upon hearing word of this from Cora at dinner, shuddered at the idea of common soldiers traipsing in and out all times of the day and night. Where would they get any privacy? And the mixing of ranks? "It's a lot to ask when people aren't at their best."

Isobel, in consultation with Dr. Clarkson who was keen on getting the overflow from the village hospital better facilities at the big house, agreed that Downton could be a convalescent home for officers.

With that compromise, Violet's opposition evaporated. "It's a brave new world we're headed for, no doubt about that. We must try to meet it with as much grace as we can muster."

Violet had also surprisingly agreed to Sybil training as a nurse in York. Cora, seeing her youngest as a fledgling about to leave the nest, resisted. "I'm sorry, but if Dr. Clarkson needs free labour, I'd prefer him not to find it in my nursery."

"But Sybil isn't in the nursery and in case you haven't noticed, she hasn't been there for some time." Violet had dryly observed.

"You know what I mean."

"Well, no, not really. You can't pretend it's not respectable when every day we're treated to pictures of queens and princesses in Red Cross uniform, ladling soup down the throat of some unfortunate." As much as Violet was loathe to admit it, they must begin to do their part. And be seen doing it.

"But Sybil won't be ladling soup. She'll have to witness unimaginable horrors, and she's an innocent." The images of bleeding, wounded men screaming in pain filled Cora's imagination.

"Her innocence will protect her." Isobel tried to reassure. Even though she privately knew Sybil was made of stern stuff and would come out shining and better for the experience.

Violet put an end to all opposition. "For once I agree with Cousin Isobel. Sybil must be allowed to do her bit like everyone else."

It had amazed Cora that Violet and Isobel were on the same side. And with that acknowledgement, she had no chance. And besides Sybil was so keen. So she let her go.

It was all coming so fast for everyone.

And now Mary was at it.

Mary shut down the discussion finally with this final interjection. "We don't want Mrs. Patmore to start hoarding, do we?"

That would be an embarrassment in the county. "Fine. Yes." Cora agreed. "Remember as well we've accepted the teetotaler pledge." The sobriety campaign had begun in the military to promote discipline. It had filtered into the civilian community through campaigns to promote of prayer, purity, and temperance. Numerous leagues and committees endorsed the campaign as an example of British self-denial, moral purity, and civilization. And look like they were sacrificing equal to those on the battlefield. So as county aristocrats they needed to lead by example.

"So no sherry after dinner for Granny Violet." And she handed the sheet back to Mary with an amused look. "I'm sure she'll love that."

"Needs must." Mary declaimed slyly. "We're all on the same team." She knew how much Cora was put out by Isobel and Violet siding against her about Sybil's nursing course in York. She herself was in some doubt and intended to speak with her dearest sister privately upon Sybil's return to see if that being a VAD was exactly what she wanted.

Just at that moment Edith walked in. "As long as you remember that as well as the rest of us." She heard the last of Mary's declamations. Edith knew that taking the job on the farm had set Mary's teeth on edge. And that was almost as satisfying to her as the work itself.

Mary's groan could be heard across the library.

"Thank you Edith. But I don't need you to remind me of anything." She turned quickly away so that Edith would not see her face blanch white. She understood more than most the sacrifice of the things she had loved the best before the war. Her hand shook, but she quickly hid it.

"You're just worried about your horse." Edith could not resist another shot across Mary's bow. It had become a competition neither sister could resist.

Mary's eyes closed. She was not up to Edith's fatuous baiting today. But that did not mean she'd let her get away with it. "All the best horses have been requisitioned for the war effort." Those horses included her own beloved Diamond. "But …" she took a breath. "At least I haven't taken their place behind a plow."

Edith sat down in a sulk.

Mary knew that was deliberately hurtful. But Edith did beg to be teased. And neither sister had it in them just yet to relent.

"Girls. Girls." Cora chided, almost by habit. She was seldom listened to by either of them. "Let us remember what this is all in aid of."

Again Mary felt her back rise. If she was reminded one more time about sacrificing for the war, she'd scream. Matthew was about to be sent to the front. She knew that every minute of every day. Her life was once again on hold.

"I don't want to know that you've bought anything extra while I'm away at Cliveden." Turning a bold eye back towards her mother.

"I'm surprised you're going at all." Cora said. "What with Matthew away…"

"Rosamund invited me. It would be rude to say no." Mary responded quickly. "Matthew understands that."

Neither her mother nor Edith would gainsay that.

But Mary knew the real reason was that she would go mad if she did not get out.

Even as she rather liked bossing her mother about, she was in need of getting away from the constant reminders of the war. Even as her conscious tugged by that admission, she knew it to be true.

"Then I'll come with you." Edith said. "You'll need a traveling companion." And she smirked at the idea of challenging Mary's position as queen of everything. She'd attract her own attention at Cliveden.

Mary's eyes shot up in exasperation but said nothing. What was there to say?

XX

That night she pulled out Matthew's latest letter. He was still awaiting final orders for the regiment's mobilization to France. The regiment was being temporarily housed in London awaiting orders. Reluctantly he had agreed to Robert's suggestion that the young footman William Mason become Matthew's soldier servant.

Mary had received his letter the night before. She read it all again. Matthew had privately disclosed to Mary that he did not feel comfortable taking responsibility over Mason's safety.

She read between the lines that he barely knew how to keep himself safe.

Mary got down on her knees beside the bed. She had surreptitiously removed a picture of Matthew from a frame in the library. He had posed for the picture when he first discovered he was the heir. His look was still one of shock. Handsome, of course. But with an air of doubt as to whether he wished that to be his future.

She wanted to take those doubts away. But even now, they burdened him. Why, perhaps, their relationship remained incomplete. No longer engaged, they were together and yet apart.

Her finger briefly touched the photograph. Stroked along his cheek bone. She placed it on the bed a midst her bed linens.

Was this what he really wanted?

But she refused to give into his doubts. Instead she remembered his love.

She took the long piece of soft damask silk cloth from beneath her pillow. Anna had kept it safe there ever since Mary received the gift from Matthew a few weeks previous. The note had read '_Passed a shop in London. Saw this. Thought of you my darling Mary_.'

It was a textured crimson wrap. _'Yours ever in love, Matthew.' _Red. Red the color of love. Of passion.

She put it around her shoulders. It was as if he was in the room with her.

Put her hands together and spoke. Halting, trembling at first. She was not used to this. But felt... felt it necessary to connect. To pray to a God she hoped listened to those in need. So many people in need. So many to listen to.

"Dear Lord, I don't pretend to have much credit with you. I'm not even sure that you're there. But if you are, and if I've ever done anything good, I beg you to keep him safe."

She bowed her head against the linen coverlet suddenly overcome with tiredness. A stretched out, frayed along the edges form of tiredness. As if she was being physically worn down slowly, like the constant walking across a carpet until nothing was left but the strands barely holding the whole together.

The war had already gone on so much longer than anyone seemed to anticipate. And there was no end in sight.

XX

It was as if the war never was. There was boating on the Thames, horses available in the stables, tennis or swimming. Edith played croquet on the lawn. As Mary walked around the grounds she realized, however, that even here was touched by the war. Waldorf Astor had offered up the use of buildings on the far side of the estate to the Canadian Red Cross. She also noticed the adjoining cemetery.

She turned away. Not needing yet another reminder of the closeness of death.

Walking back towards the house, an Italianate mansion on a beautiful slope towards the river, Mary shaded her eyes from the late afternoon sun. Anna would be waiting inside to dress her for dinner. So many people were visiting this week end she was having trouble keeping them all straight.

She could hear the murmur of conversation. The muted laughter from the croquet match. The attempt to keep the real world at bay.

Rosamund arrived soon after Mary and Edith. She had brought a group of friends from London. Including Richard Carlisle.

That man got around. His newspaper circulations were higher than ever. He had been knighted. And now it seemed seriously shopping for a wife.

Mary liked his attentions, even if it was just to spite Edith. Her sister had fawned outrageously over the newspaper baron at dinner the previous night. And Mary found herself falling into habit again.

Anna was waiting for Mary. They chose a demur gown for dinner this second night. Dark green, long sleeved with brocaded gold and silver interlacing. She placed her gloves on as Anna affixed her hair pin.

Edith rapped on Mary's door and the two women walked down to the dining room together. Neither spoke except to exchange pleasantries.

During the dinner both were seated separately. Mary ended up spending the dinner squashed between two of the most boring old dolts she had ever had to endure.

So after dinner, as the two sister walked away from the table, Mary was ready for conversation. And the occasional zinger.

"I wish you do stop your obsequious behavior this evening." Mary said as she adjusted her gloves again. Edith had once again tried to take command of the dinner conversation at her end of the table. It was most unbecoming, Mary thought.

"Why? It's fun and not harming anyone. Least of all you." Edith snapped back.

"He isn't one of us." Mary riposted.

"Neither was Matthew. That didn't seem to stop you." Edith had enough of Mary's attempts to keep all the eligible men to herself. "I remember when you called him 'an old sea monster.'"

"That was a very long time ago." Mary preferred not to remember her initial dismissing of Matthew. It hurt too much. "If you must make conversation try not to simper. Giggling like a ridiculous schoolgirl with Sir Richard is no way to win him, you know." Mary sidled up to Edith as the men stayed to smoke in the dining room.

"I enjoyed it. We seem to have a lot to talk about." Edith baited back. "Reminded me of talking with Matthew when we used to take our walks."

"And look how well that turned out for you." Mary simply could not resist. "I'm sorry Cousin Matthew proved a disappointment." Mary had always known of Edith's interest in all her beaus. First Patrick. Then Matthew. Now even acquaintances seemed to be on her list.

"I know I'm right about Sir Richard. He was very interested in my journalistic ambitions."

Mary snorted. "Spare me your boastings, please." Mary reached the door of the music room and entered.

"Now who's jealous?" Edith couldn't help a moment of triumph.

Mary breathed in. "Jealous? Do you think I couldn't have that old booby if I wanted him?"

What had come over her? She simply had to stop this adolescent bickering. Of course she didn't want Richard Carlisle. Her hand unconsciously slipped beneath the collar of her linen and silk gown. It was where she had hidden Matthew's regimental badge. She wore it always. Sometimes openly. Sometimes hidden.

"Even you can't take every prize." Edith eyed her openly.

This had to end. Once and for all she had to prove to Edith that following around in her wake would only show her up as pathetic.

"Is that a challenge?" Mary's eyebrow raised.

"If you like." Edith rejoined. The two women turned away from each other to make small talk with the other women until the men joined them.

The blood surged within Mary's veins. She knew it was petty. Inconsequential in light of the stark reality of the war, of the world they currently lived in.

Maybe that's why she invited it in. To forget. To replace in her mind the constant anxiety, the constant worry, with something frivolous.

She saw Carlisle enter.

"Ah, I've been waiting for you. I found an article over here and I think it's just the thing to catch your interest." Mary had latched onto snatches of conversation at dinner where Carlisle had been discussing the Marconi scandal of 1912.

Richard leaned over. "I'm intrigued."

Mary made sure to maneuver him behind the divan, away from Edith. She laid her finger against a passage in a political journal belonging to Nancy Astor that indicated members of HH Asquith war cabinet positions might still be linked to that scandal.

"How clever you are Lady Mary. That is exactly what we have to be aware of. Why my newspapers are still hounding the government day and night."

Edith's lament of resignation could be heard across the room.

And for the moment Mary forgot all else but that. And then her triumph immediately turned to ashes.

She had forgotten Matthew. For that moment, that silly triumphal moment she had forgotten. And she would never forgive herself.

Pushing suddenly away from Richard, she had realized she had allowed him too many advances into her personal space. He huddled close to her shoulder. Leaning in to look at the passage indicated.

"Did I do something to offend, Lady Mary?" Richard took a step back. Things had been going so well between them. He had hoped for more. Mary Crawley was a prize. An unattached, as far as he knew, prize. Wooing and winning her would put him in circles of society and politics he yearned to attain. They had met on a couple of occasions at Downton and later in London at Rosamund Painswick's residence. He hoped to pursue the acquaintanceship here.

And she was so very beautiful.

"No." Mary's voice came out far calmer than she actually felt. "I'm quite alright." But she had to get away. The air was suddenly stifling in the room.

"Perhaps we can take a walk tomorrow then? Across the terrace and down into the woodland?" Richard's Scottish burr was soft. Inviting. Or at least he hoped it was.

"We'll see." She stepped deliberately away from him. "But right now I have a headache. I think I'll retire for the evening." Richard stepped away to allow her to brush past him without another word.

She made her good nights to the hosts and retired to her room.

Anna was there to greet her. "My lady I have a telegram for you." Anna had just received the missive from a footman and was just about to go downstairs to ask the butler to retrieve Lady Mary from the after dinner activities.

But now she did not have to.

"A telegram?" Mary's face turned white. Anna's hand was shaking. Both women had already had experiences with bad news being delivered by telegrams. And with the war the situation of friends, acquaintances, and distant relatives wounded or killed in action had become even more commonplace. Sybil had begun to dread reading any newspaper or receiving any letter in the mail for fear it contained yet another death notice.

Of course Mary knew that Matthew was safe. He was not even in France yet. And her father as well.

She ripped it open. Read the contents. Gasped and looked up at Anna.

"It's from Matthew." Her own hand shook now. "His regiment has been called to France. He leaves tomorrow. He's asking if I can make it to London to join the other ladies at the train station."

She didn't know whether to be happy or frightened. Mad with happiness to see Matthew again. Even if just a glimpse on a train platform.

Then the cold reality of knowing she might never see him again. To wave one last time. To see him disappear into the vapors of the smoke from the locomotive engines.

Could she do that?

She gripped Anna's arm. "Go get Rosamund right away." Mary was coherent enough to realize she would need a chaperone. "Tell her we must leave at once for London. I can stay with her. But we must leave now."

Matthew was waiting for her. She would not disappoint him.

XX  
><em>We'll pick up the story from Matthew's perspective next chapter! <em>

_Please review. I know we all say this in notes—and all fan fic authors really really mean it—we love reviews and reading your observations!_


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